I walked into the kitchen and found Brandon and Melissa hunched over their phones at my dining table, frantically checking balances, calling banks, whispering numbers like prayers. Empty Dom bottles lined the counter like expensive trophies. The catering invoice sat on the kitchen island exactly where I left it.
Fifteen thousand dollars.
For one night.
Melissa stared at the paper like it might burst into flames. “Fifteen thousand,” she whispered. “For dinner.”
Brandon was on his third call. “I need my limit raised,” he said into the phone, voice tight. “Yes, I understand it’s unusual. It’s… family.”
He ended the call and looked up at me with a face full of panic and anger.
“Mom,” he said, too carefully, “we need to talk about that catering bill.”
“Oh, wasn’t it wonderful?” I asked, pouring myself coffee from the machine they’d commandeered three days ago. “Everyone raved about the lobster.”
“We can’t afford fifteen thousand dollars for one party,” Brandon snapped.
I tilted my head. “That’s strange,” I said. “I was under the impression you were handling all the management decisions for this property now.”
His face drained.
“But Mom, I never—”